


The Mandalorian and the Kid

by Katowisp



Series: The Mandalorian and the Kid [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, ManDadlorian, May the Force Be With You, Seduction to the Dark Side, Star Wars References, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Dark Side of the Force, the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katowisp/pseuds/Katowisp
Summary: The Mandalorian rides in search of the Kid's parentage.Along the way, he learns how to be a father.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: The Mandalorian and the Kid [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591504
Comments: 117
Kudos: 420





	1. The Outpost

“We will find your kind,” The Mandalorian told the Child as he steered the ship in the expanse of spaces. “I don’t know where they are, and I don’t know where to start.” He passed the ball of the shifter to the Child. He took it and popped it into his mouth.

His father heard the sound and turned in his chair. “Spit that out!” He held out his hand.

The Child laughed and added extra spit as he delivered it into the proffered hand. 

The Mandalorian grunted, wiping his hand off on the cloth of his cape before screwing the ball back on. “You’ll choke.”

The Child giggled. 

“We will head to Batuu. There’s a Covert there I’ve heard of. They can help us.” His father punched coordinates into the ship and swiveled to look at the Child. 

“I will teach you the story of my people.” He reached out and pulled the Child into his lap. “When you come of age, you will have to decide if you want to join the Creed. At that time, you will wear a helmet like mine. If I have died honorably in battle, it will be within your right to take my armor and make it your own. ”

The Child whined. His father looked down at him. He shifted his grip, as if reconsidering that speaking of his death to his son was appropriate. "It is the Way," he added, as though to make his son feel better. 

It did not. The Mandalorian sighed. He tried again. "Long ago, there was a planet, Mandalore—”

The Child allowed himself to fall asleep in the arms of his father, the wide expanse of space slipping by them. 

0o0o0o0o0o

His father taught him the ship. He taught him the basics of navigation. He taught him where the maintenance area was, and where the tools were. He taught him the name of the tools and their uses. He showed him access to the separate, distinct panels. There were the ones the Child knew about, and ones that he didn’t. 

After he had taught him the ship, he taught him the stars. He taught him the constellations, and the ones that had planets, and the stories and histories of the people below. 

Sometimes the Child paid attention. Sometimes he fell asleep in the arms of his father, lulled by the vibrations through his chest plate. 

If they never arrived on Batuu and spent the rest of their lives in the stars, the Child would be happy. 

00o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o

The Child woke to the sound of the engine dropping to a lower gear. He had gotten used to the sounds of the ship as it traveled through space. 

“The histories say that Batuu was once a waypoint for those traveling to the Wilds, but the opening of hyperspace routes caused the planet to be bypassed. Without a stream of travelers, it was forgotten. After the Purge, a covert established at Black Spire Outpost.”

His father shifted to look at him. “Those that come here are those avoiding the gaze of the Empire or the Republic, or whatever organization has declared themselves the ruling government. They do not trust outsiders, and they shouldn’t be trusted.”

His father turned back to look at the planet, growing larger before them. The Child could feel the uncertainty rolling off him. “I wish IG-11 had not self-destructed.”

The Child wished the same.

But his father had taught him wishes were empty, so he did not dwell on the safety he had felt in the arms of the droid Kuill had programmed in the purpose of protection. 

They got clearance to land, and Din guided the ship in. The planet was more mountainous than the planets they had been to before. There were large, bleak spires covering the landscape.

“The planet was covered in trees. Those spires are all that remain,” he explained as he settled the ship into the landing bay. 

He could feel The Mandalorian considering leaving him behind. The Child did not want that. He sent a gentle _push_.

The ship landed rougher than the Child was used to, and his father turned. He could feel the glare behind the helmet. 

“I will take you with me, but I know my thoughts. Do not manipulate me.”

The Child felt Guilt. He whined. His father’s shoulders sagged as he stood .

“Come on, Kid.” 

A droid managed the port. The Child watched as Din slowly reached into his pouch, paying for storage of the _Razor Crest_. He did not curse the droid, and he did not demand to speak to a living being. 

The Outpost was alight with all manner of creature. Some of them the Child recognized, but most of them he didn’t. His father had taught him that it was important to be Brave, even if he did not feel that way. He tried to throw his shoulders back and walk tall, the way his father did, as they passed something that had tentacles for a face, a gaping maw with many teeth lying just beyond. Bright turquoise eyes studied the Child.

“That’s a Quarren,” his father whispered once they had passed. 

The Child followed Din through the outpost. Many of the aliens they passed made a point not to look at them, and the Child tried not to stare. 

The sky above was bruised from low hanging clouds. The buildings were decrepit. Most of them were cracked, with sagging shutters and missing panes, if the windows had glass at all. Most of the denizens ducked their heads, cowls covering their faces. As they walked through the market, vendors were pulling down their tents to brace against the coming storm. The Mandalorian quickened their pace. 

They stopped in front of a building. The Mandalorian toggled something on his helmet, and a door shuttered open. They stepped inside, and the door slammed behind them. They walked into darkness, and his father turned on his light, illuminating the hallway. Water dropped from the ceiling, forming stalactites from the weathered tunnels and the Child gathered they were descending. 

In time, he could see light. The tunnels opened up into an oasis of green. Trees erupted from the floor, a tall glass ceiling above them. Unlike the rest of the city, this place was well-maintained. A Mandalorian stood at the entrance to the atrium. They nodded as his father passed by. 

They walked through the garden. Winged insects fluttered by. The Child reached for one, but it escaped his grasp. He _reached_ for it, and the bug froze in midair, but his father looked down at him.

“Don’t.” 

The child let the bug go. 

There was a figure in the middle of the garden. Instead of the resplendent silver that his father wore, this one was cased in battered white, not dissimilar to that of the warriors that Moff Gideon had commanded. However, it had been made into the familiar structure of Mandalorians. The figure spoke. 

“Din Djarin.”

His fathered stiffened at the sound of his name, pausing mid stride. 

“Come. Your reputation proceeds you.” By the voice, it was a woman. She motioned to a seat, manipulated from living wood. The tree above it grew tall, reaching towards the glass ceiling, forming a huge canopy above them. The Child could see fruit hanging from the branches. His father dipped his head and took the seat. The Child settled behind him. A small, crawling bug inched towards him. He kept his hands in his lap.

“I am at a disadvantage. I do not know your name.”

“I did not fight Moff Gideon. My name does not matter. You have avenged us.” 

“I am looking for this child’s people.” 

The other Mandalorian turned her faceless gaze to assess the Child. “I have never seen his kind.”

His father made to stand. "I think you for your time."

“But I have heard of them.”

“Who are they?” His father settled back down. 

“I have heard of a race attuned to the force that surrounds all things. They are meant to provide guidance and bring balance. They do not belong to a people or a planet. You will not find another like him.”

The Child could feel his father’s gaze. “He cannot bring balance. He is a child.”

“He is now, but not always,” the woman said. “Some look to clone him, to weaponize his powers. To control this force is to control the galaxy.” 

“It is why Moff Gideon searched for him.”

“It is why,” the woman agreed. “You must protect him.”

“My Covert is gone.” The Child could hear the loneliness in his father’s voice. He climbed into his lap. His father settled him in, absently rubbing his ears. 

“Our planet is destroyed, but our people are not. He will outlive you. When you are gone, the Mandalorians will carry him forward until such a time that he is ready. We will ensure this.”

The Child buried his head in the breast plate of his father. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and he sniffled. Soon, he was wailing at the prospect of a galaxy without his father, and he felt the comforting weight of his father’s hand on his head. 

“It is the Way,” Din said. It was meant to be comforting, but the Child found the words empty.

“It is the Way,” the woman echoed. 

The Child sobbed louder. Din pulled the Child up, clasping him close to his chest. 

"I do not know how to be a father."

The other Mandalorian chuckled. "None of us _know_ how to be a parent. You will raise him as a foundling. Teach him how to be a Mandalorian. The rest will follow. You will do the best you can. That is fatherhood." She paused for a beat. "You are safe to raise him here, or to continue to search for his kind. Perhaps I am wrong." 

Din looked around the atrium. He gaze up at the canopy above them, trees heavy with bounty. Rain pattered against the glass above. "We will rest," he said at last, "but I would not be able to raise him well unless I know I have at least tried to find what remains of his family." 

The other Mandalorian nodded. "We will provide provisions for your journey. There is work on the Outer Rim, I will secure a job for you if you desire. It pays well."

"I accept your offer." He stood. 

"I will send the information to your quarters. My daughter will show you the way. What does the child eat?" 

Din looked at his son. The Child looked at him, smiling. "He likes meat." 

"I will send meat, and fruit from the BreadTree." She motioned to the tree above them. 

"I thank you for your kindness." 

"You have vanquished our murderer. There is need to thank me." 


	2. The Shootout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian is hired by the Hutts. Along the way, he teaches his son about hunting.  
> The Child has a memory.

The Child had a memory. 

He had fifty years of them, but this one was special. For many of his years, he had been hunted. But his earliest memory was of a warm voice and a blue sky and the heat of the sun in summer above them. 

He could not remember the face or even the sound of the voice, but he remembered the feeling of safety he had had. He had been warm, and he had been home, and he had been loved. 

For many years, he had not been any of these things. 

He was again. 

“We’re headed to Mataou,” his father said over his shoulder. The Child dropped from his chair and tugged on the shin plate of the gunslinger. His father picked him up. “If we hit the belt, you’ll have to be buckled in.”

The Child cooed in agreement. 

“Mataou,” his father began, in the soft tenor he took when he was about to tell a story, “used to belong to the Hutts.”

The Child interrupted questioningly. 

“The Hutts are—basically giant slugs. Have you seen a slug?”

The Child had. In fact, he had eaten several. He nodded. 

“They’re big versions. They’re mean, and mostly criminals. They are said to be from a planet called Varl, but it does not exist on any star chart. Now they call Nal Hutta home.”

The Child hummed. His father continued after a beat.

“After the Hutts abandoned Matou, it became a farming world inhabited by a race known as Ro hypa. During the Rebellion, a group called the Trade Spine League occupied it, resulting in the Battle of Mateou. Since then, the Hutts have been trying to take the planet back, but remnants of the old insurgency remain. But that’s not why we’re going there.

“A thief known as Matou Red took something from the Hutt, Szewni Khoijirm. He hired me to take it back.”

The Child buried his head in Din’s chest. 

“I don’t like it, either. The Hutts are dangerous. But they have good money.”

Din pulled the shifter for hyperspace, and the stars evaporated, replace by a blur of lights. When they fell out of hyperspace, the orange planet of Mataou loomed in the viewfinder. His father requested landing coordinates and keyed the _Razor Crest_ in for landing. 

When they debarked, the Child stayed close to his father. The sky was the bright, stark blue of the other desert planets the Child knew.

“Maybe someday we’ll go to the ocean,” the Mandalorian muttered to his son. The child cooed questioningly. 

“It’s water as far as the eye can see.” 

The Child tried to imagine it. He had seen a lake once, and rivers, of course. In his mind, he replaced the sand with a giant lake, cool, placid waters replacing the undulating dunes. 

He thought he would like that very much. 

The town they traversed had been glorious once. Even the Child could appreciate this. Huge, terraced buildings were bleached white. The red ornamental elements had turned tannish-pink in the unrelenting desert sun. Many of the buildings were cracked from heat and disuse but were otherwise fairly well preserved in the arid desert air. 

The streets were largely empty. The settlement had no bustling market. The center of town was a cracked fountain filled with sand. The Child could see shadows in the broken windows, but they were gone when he glanced at them. He could feel the lives hiding behind the thick walls all the same. 

At last they came to a cracked building. The sign above it indicated it was an inn. 

They went inside. 

When the Child’s eyes adjusted to the dim interior, a creature with horns on his head and intricate face tattoos sat at the bar. “Mandalorian,” he acknowledged. A hulking alien stood behind him, another one at the bar. 

“A Zabrak. I didn’t think you’d cast your lot with the Hutts.”

The humanoid, wrapped in leather armor, shrugged. “Sometimes independence means a little collusion.” He paused. “Mandalorian’s aren’t known for their alliance with Hutts, either.” He grinned sharply. 

Din shrugged. “Credits are credits.”

The Zabrak laughed. “Well said! Is that your code speaking?”

The Mandalorian dropped his hand to his blaster. The Child saw the alien behind the Zabrak drop his hand below the table. “Careful,” Din warned.

The Zabrak raised his hands, nodding towards his man at the table. “We’re friends here. Same side, and all that.” When Din didn’t relax, the Zabrak continued quickly, “You’re here for Matou Red. He already knows; he’s expecting you. Many hunters have tried to take him, and many hunters are dead. You’re a Mandalorian. Your reputation proceeds you. If not, we will bury you in Necropolis with the dead Hutts. It will be honorable.” 

“It won’t be an issue.” 

The Zabrak’s eyes dropped to the Child, noticing him for the first time. “What is that?”

“My son.” Din slid his hand from his hip, letting it rest at his side. The Kid saw the alien behind Zabrak relax. The one at the bar was still leaning in a little too intently.

The Zabrak looked back up at the Mandalorian, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what you looked like under there? Doesn’t that helmet hurt your ears? I didn’t know you people could have kids.” He waved his hand. “Never mind, forget I asked. It isn’t any of my business.”

“You’re right. It isn’t.” 

A purple humanoid woman slinked in from across the bar. Her eyes were as bright and vibrant as her skin, and there was a lot of it. What she wore barely covered her at all. It was good, the Child felt, that the planet was so hot.

She leaned in and whispered in the Zabrak’s ear. He pulled her onto his lap. 

“He’s here. Itching for a fight. He’s just a kid but he’s good. There’s notches on his blaster for every man he’s killed.”

“It won’t be a problem.” Din glanced over his shoulder. “My son stays here. Any harm—” 

“There will be none, regardless of the outcome. You have the word of my ancestors. Which is worth more than mine," the Zabrak added with an unhappy shrug.

His father nodded before turning to leave the dark accommodations of the inn, and the Child tottered to the swinging doors. He felt someone lift him up, and suddenly he was pressed against the bosom of the purple woman. She cooed down at him. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen? We’ll watch from the window. If anything happens, I’ll take care of you. I’ve wanted a child of my own but,” she cast purple eyes towards the Zabrak and said in a hushed voice, “it’s bad for business.” She shrugged. “I guess he isn’t wrong. But look at your giant ears! Aren’t they just the softest things ever. I’m Maya.” 

“Mandalorian!”

They turned their attention to outside the inn to where a red man stood in the street. He was dressed entirely in well-oiled leather, a blue leather jacket over tan leather complimenting a shock of blue hair that was swept over to one side. Time had not creased the lines at his eyes or mouth yet and in a lot of ways, he reminded the Child of the boy that had tried to take him hostage before his father saved him. 

He decided he did not like this red man.

“Matou Red,” Din said, coming to stand in the middle of the street, forty paces between them. The Child saw people gathered at the windows of the decrepit buildings. “The Hutts want to have a talk with you. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” He rested his hand casually on his blaster.

“He’s a Zeltron. Have you seen one before?” Maya cooed in the Child’s ear. 

“I’m not going back to those criminals.” Matou Red scowled, his hand resting on his own blaster. 

“If you give me what you stole, we’ll be square.”

“Twenty hunters have come for me, and twenty hunters have died. You’ll make twenty-one.” He went to draw. 

The Zeltron had not cleared leather before a blaster shot caught him in the chest. Red bloomed across his chest. Matou Red had a moment to grab at the wound before he tumbled to his knees before slumping forward. Blood pooled around him. 

“Oh,” Maya whispered, “your father is fast.” She paused. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I should have probably covered your eyes.”

They watched as the Mandalorian crossed the abandoned street. He flipped the body over and reached into the inner pocket that Matou Red wore. He pulled something from it before standing and coming back into the bar. The shadows in the windows became fully formed creatures that materialized on the streets, standing over the fallen body. 

His father came back into the bar. To everyone else, he looked exactly the same. To the Child, he could feel tendrils of sadness.

“My work here is done.”

“He’s been a terror,” the Zabrak said. “Bad for business. I heard the Hutt’s are trying to claim the planet for themselves again.”

“That’s not what I was hired for,” the Mandalorian said crisply as he collected the Child from Maya’s grasp. 

“You’re fast,” she breathed as she handed over the child. “Interested in a bonus?”

“No.”

“No, of course not. You have a child.” She blushed a deeper shade of purple. 

Din paused. “Thank you for looking after him,” he offered. “He is a good kid.”

“Oh he is,” Maya enthused. “Take care of him.”

Later, when they were back in the ship and the Child was sitting in his father’s lap, Din was silent a long time. When they were once again surrounded by stars he said, “I do not enjoy killing but sometimes it is necessary. ” He put an armored hand on his son’s head. “You must always give another man a chance, even if he does not take it.

Eventually he added, “And do not ever cross the Hutts. If I teach you nothing else, I will have at least taught you that."

The Child snuggled into his father's chest and fell asleep, dreaming of warmth and maybe, the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Deadwood, a little Marty Robbins. More Kid POV. I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for all your love. It really does mean the world to me.


	3. The Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never trust a Hutt. 
> 
> The Child faces a Darkness.

The creature had slobber dripping from its maw, which seemed too big for his head, which seemed a little too small for its bulbous body. His yellow reptilian eyes bulged, as if they, too, were a little large for his head. He was a mountainous slug, surrounded by a bevy of female slaves of all colors and creed. A young human man with downcast eyes acted as translator. His father had told him Hutts never deemed to speak Common, as they felt it was beneath them. 

“Szewni Khoijirm,” Din nodded his head in respect. 

“Haaa,” Szewni chuffed, “You are expensive, but you are worth it. You!” He Hutt nodded towards an Iakru, who crossed in front of the Hutt reluctantly. He offered a handful of credits. Din took them carefully. 

“This is just for show! I’ve transferred to the rest to your account, haaa. I am generous to those who have earned it!” When the Hutt laughed, his whole body shook. “And unkind to those who failed!” He pulled on the chain of a young Chiss. 

“And what is that? Szewni leered at the child. “It looks rare.”

“’It’ is my son. He is not for sale.” Din’s inflection was measured, and the Child never saw him reach for his blaster, but he sensed the warning all the same. He stood closer to his father. 

“Ho ho ho!” And it was the first creature the Child had ever heard announce his laughter that way. “You would challenge me!” He waved a tiny arm. “You brought me a bounty others have failed. I would not dishonor that alliance!” 

“If you have need of my services, you have my beacon.” Din stepped back with a bow. 

“But first, a feast! It would dishonor me if you did not attend.” The Hutt motioned, and several slaves scattered away to prepare. 

“I do not eat in the company of others. I apologize.” His fathered bowed deeper. 

“Then you may sit, and your child can partake! I am sure he is hungry!” 

The Mandalorian paused. The Child heard him sigh in resignation. “Of course.” 

0o0o0o0o

The meal was lavish, and the only guests were the Child and his father. There was more food than the two of them could ever eat, and the Child’s eyes widened at the feast. Slaves milled around, but they were not welcome at the table. The Child grabbed for all the meats. There were some he knew, and most he did not. A slave placed a crimson drink before him. It was slightly acidic, but sweet. He drained the entire glass. 

“Your eyes are larger than your stomach,” his father tried to tell him as the Child gobbled down the arm of a creature he’d never heard of, the wing of another creature in his spare hand.

“Ho ho ho! He’s a growing boy! Let him eat!” The Hutt cheered in his guttural language translated neatly into Common by the salve. 

Much too late, he would appreciate it was a warning.

Szewni regaled them with stories of his grandeur and wealth. When the Child felt he could not possibly have another bite, dessert was brought out. A decadent cake dyed to all the colors the Child had ever seen was placed in front of him. He buried his face in it with a giggle. 

“Stop it,” his father pulled his head from the sweet. “Have some decorum.”

“I like his spirit!” The Hutt smiled at the child. “Have as much as you would like; there’s more where it came from. If you have pleased me, you will never want.”

The Child grinned back, his face smeared with icing. For the first time, he wondered if his father hadn’t been wrong. Din, the Child had learned, was an ascetic type. Perhaps the Hutt’s weren’t so bad—they were just more generous in their wealth. 

When both the Child and the Hutt had eaten their fill and the Child was feeling very tired, Szewni offered them quarters. 

“We are well met and thank you for your accommodations,” Din stood, “But we do not want to take advantage.”

The Hutt chortled. “A guest should never turn down provisions offered by a Hutt.” 

If the Child had been slightly more conscious, he would have recognized the threat. He allowed himself to be gathered in the arms of his father. Suddenly, he thought he might be sick. He threw up on Din’s breastplate. 

“What did you put in the food?

The blurry words and a grunt of pain were the last thing the Child heard before he slipped into a restless sleep. 

0o0o0o0o0o0o

When the Child awoke, he was alone. 

His head hurt and the room spun as he tottered to his feet. The floor moved as he stumbled across it, and he toppled over and threw up again. 

Hours later, when the light no longer hurt his eyes and the room had stopped spinning, he climbed up again. He realized he was confined to a cage hanging from a ceiling. Its connection point was lost in the gloom above. He wrapped his hands around the bars and _willed_ them to widen. 

They did not budge.

He heard a chortle, and the Hutt slithered from the shadows of the darkened room. His human slave followed. 

“The rumors are true,” Sezwni’s slitted eyes were bright with greed. “You’re the one the remnants of the Empire have been searching for. You will make me very rich.”

The slave translated the words in impeccable common, but he looked up at the last part and for the first time, the Child appreciated the sadness in his eyes. 

"But you are also very rare, and so I may keep you for my own. I have the most exclusive collection in the galaxy." The Hutt waved his tiny arm to the cages that hung in the dark around them. The Child could see others cowering within. 

He fell back on his butt and wailed for his father. 

“You cry for the Mandalorian!” The Hutt laughed. “My father cried even as I ate him, but it is _Our_ way. I have sent your father to the fighting pits. He will make me a great deal of money before he dies. He is an honorable warrior. Unfortunately, I do not care about honor.” The Hutt slithered away, leaving the child alone in a room full of cages. 

He sobbed. 

“Shhh,” a soft voice called, “Shhhh.”

A woman with glowing white skin and vivid blue eyes peered out at him from a neighboring cage. Her slender form was draped in a vivid crimson dress and she radiated sadness. 

The Child wailed louder. 

She wrapped thin fingers around the bars of her cage. “It is okay, my Child.” She pushed her face to the edges of the cage, her hood falling back to reveal a perfectly formed face with a tiny nose and pink lips curved in a gentle smile. The Child felt a sense of peace wash over him, and his crying became hiccups as he stared back at her in wonder. She was, he thought, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“We will be okay. I am Aliel. Do you have a name?” She paused. The Child cooed. “Still awaiting your Naming, I understand. I was one hundred and fifty before I received mine. In my language, it means ‘Familial Bonds’. It can take a long time to find a name. Will you be my family? I have lost mine.” 

The Child felt tears at the corners of his eyes again, and he sniffled heavily. 

“Oh, you have one. He is lost to you. I understand.” Her smiled turned watery. “Perhaps, one day he will come. While we wait, I will be your family and you may be mine.”

And so, the Child waited. He regretted not listening to his father. He regretted thinking the Hutts were a better people than his father had credited them. He wished he had stood with his father, and never had anything that the giant slug offered.

Some days Szewni swaggered in with a grin. Some days, he did not come at all. On those days, Aliel sang to the Child from her cage. She sung of blue skies and deep oceans and green forests with misty sunrises alive with birdsong. She sang of a mother’s love, which the Child did not know, and the courage of fathers, which the Child knew all about. 

One day, much like all the others, Szewni was happier than usual. ‘Your father does well in the fighting pits! He earns me much. When my contacts have reached the right people, you will, too.” The translator looked at him now as if to say, _you’re one of us._

The tenth time Szewni came, the Child did not cry. He stared back with narrowed eyes. The Hutt chortled. “I have heard you can use the Force. It does not work on me! I admire your grit, all the same.”

In his absence, Aliel told him stories of the galaxy and of her people. She was from a planet known as Lego from the system Milius Prime. Her people did not believe in violence, and she had been driven from her moon by those she called Separatists. She had spent the last fifty years searching for her family, until she had been captured by Szewni as part of his collection. He had, she explained, a penchant for the unusual. 

“One day,” she promised again, “We will break free.” 

The days passed, separated only by meals. The Child practiced _reaching_ He felt for the other life forces, trapped in their cages. He _listened_ and realized he could sometimes _hear_ , even though they rarely spoke. Many of his fellow prisoners were creatures, who didn't think much at all. Far in one corner, there was a woman who's only uniqueness came from being Alderaanian. There was a small crab three cages down from a placed called Scarif. When prompted, Aliel told him his species had been exclusive to a beach that the Empire had blown up in an attempt to destroy their own files. He was the last of his kind.

As he learned more about the other prisoners, the Child's heart hurt. He was in a jail of Last Ones. They were all alone in the galaxy, their people destroyed by fate or the machinations of others.

But the Child was not alone. He knew his father would come for him, as he had done before. He promised himself he would never question his father again.

On the days the Hutt came in, an evilness nipped at the edges of the Child’s soul. It promised of all the dark things they could do, if only he would let it. Together, they could escape. They could kill the Hutt and free his fellow prisoners, and save his father. Then, maybe, his father would forgive him, for the Child was sure he would be angry.

But he remembered the Regret he had felt when he had grabbed at Cara Dune’s neck, and the fear in his father’s voice, and so he tried to ignore the sibilant promises of the voice that always lurked on the edges of his consciousness. 

One day Szewni slithered in with a scowl. “The Mandalorian has lost, and so I have lost, too. There was much money riding on him. My contacts have made arrangements. I wish to keep you, but I must make up for the difference.” He slithered away, the door closing behind with finality.

The Child was inconsolable, and no matter how much Aliel sang, the Child could not stop crying. 

When the doors shuttered open that evening, the Child’s eyes were swollen from his tears. The darkness begged again for entry and this time he allowed it. He felt his soul drop away as the darkness filled him. Together, they would fight, and the Child would never be alone again.

But Szewni was not at the door. 

“Oh,” Aliel whispered, and she brightened. The darkness in his soul dropped away, burned by her light. The light's reflection off something at the open door nearly blinded the Child. After his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was his father standing just beyond, his armor reflecting In the light. He was leaning to one side, helped by the human translator's, whose head was held high as he was no longer encumbered by the iron around his neck. In the bright light, the Child could seed the silver was darkened from the blood of old wounds. The Child's eyes met the impenetrable gaze of his father's helmet. 

"I can take it from here," 

his father told the translator, handing him a ring of keys. The translator moved quickly through the room, freeing the prisoners. His fathered limped forward, slipping a key into the Child’s cage. The door opened with a click, and his father held out his arms.

The Child fell into them. His father placed a wet hand on his head. “My son.”

Aliel fluttered over to them. Six brilliant wings, each resplendent, lifted her off the ground. The Child wondered that he had never seen them before. 

“An Angel,” Din said in awe. “I thought you were a myth.”

“Your son is home. I must find mine own.” She touched a light hand on the Mandalorian’s shoulder. “May the Force be with you.” And she was gone. 

Later, the Child would wonder if she had been there at all. 

As they left Szewni’s Hall, slaves were looting what they could, ripping down priceless tapestries and scooping ancient statues into starved arms. A Twi’lek ran past them, adorned in jewels. A crown fell from her as she stumbled past, but a Convoree grabbed it before it had rolled to a stop, slipping it onto his eared head. The chambers were left in disarray, and ships were stolen and taking off into the atmosphere nearly as quickly. But everyone left the Mandalorian and his son alone. Several escaping aliens nodded at them, their faces relaxing in gratitude as they passed. When the pair arrived at the _Razor’s Crest_ , it had been readied for travel, and the hold was full of treasures. 

His father nearly fell into his seat, careful to place the Child in his own chair and securing him in before readying the ship for takeoff. 

When they were safe in the expanses of the stars once more, the Child tried to unbuckle himself. His fathered swiveled around to look at him. The blood on his armor had blackened, but the Child could see wetness at the gap in his shoulder plate, and another one at his hip. Despite his injuries, his father leaned forward and unbuckled him, pulling him into his arms. 

The Child braced himself, sure his father would berate him for not listening. Instead, he settled his chin on the top of his head. 

“My son,” he sighed. “I had thought I had lost you.” His breath was catching in his chest, but love radiated off him all the same. 

The Child buried his face in his father’s neck and sobbed. He felt the grip around him loosening as his father slipped into unconsciousness. 

He _reached_ , feeling the hole in his father’s lung and his shoulder and his hip. He was not strong enough to heal all of them yet, but he could hear the wetness in his father's breathing, and knew it was wrong. He _willed_ it to close. Din’s breathing eased. He slumped into the chair, his arms still wrapped around his son even as he faded into a healing unconsciousness. 

One he was sure his father was safe, the Child allowed himself to sleep. He dreamed of starlight and Aliel, and of the impossibly beautiful things of which she had sung. 

And if there was a blackness beneath it that promised everything the Child already had, and a thousand things he had never thought of, he ignored it. His father had come for him, and he did not need the dark promises of a voice he had never met. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody so far for all the kudos and the comments! I'm glad you're liking the story so far. I'm letting it take me wherever it goes. Thanks for coming along for the ride.


	4. The Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Interlude.

The Child dug his feet into the sand. Tiny crabs erupted around him as the surf pulled back, and the Child giggled as they dug into the wet sand. Tiny blue birds ran along the sand, their quick beaks dipping in and out of the sand. 

The Child felt he was likely an expert in deserts, and he was utterly delighted to see how sand changed when it was wet. 

He yelped as the waves came roaring back in. He wasn’t fast enough, and soon enough, the bottom of his tunic was drenched. 

“Let’s get that off you.” The Child held his arms up, and Din pulled the cloth over his head. He was left naked, and he ran along the surf in cheerful abandon. 

Behind them, the _Razor Crest_ sat with an open hatch. Otherwise, he and his father were alone on the beach. The sea was the brightest blue the Child had ever seen. In the distance, he could see the waters darken into cerulean. 

“Don’t go too deep,” his father said, and the Child heeded his words. He stood in shallow waters, and watched silver fish flit around him, only to vanish as the next wave came in. 

He wasn’t careful enough, and the wave after that knocked him over. For a moment, he was part of the ocean, and floated. He could see all sorts of tiny creatures swimming just beyond. 

He let out a gasp of air as his father lifted him free from the water. “Be careful.” 

They had taken respite on the beach after their interlude with the Hutt. His father was still injured but would not allow the Child to heal him. “I’ll be okay,” he promised, even though he still walked with a limp and favored his left shoulder. He did not tell the Child about what had happened in the fighting pits and the events that lead to his freedom, and the Child did not have the words to ask. While imprisoned, he had learned how to listen, but he did not think his father would like it if he did that, and so he did not try. 

The Child tested the waters again. He made a game of trying to outrun the waves. Sometimes, he won. Sometimes, he didn’t. 

But his father was always there to make sure he was safe. 

“I will show you how to build a sand ship.” His father called to him, and the Child ran over. Din had pulled a gold ice bucket gilded in diamonds from the hold. He filled it with wet sand and dumped it over. “First, the body of the ship. Now, we shape it.” He produced a knife, and started carving. Soon, the bucket had the look the Razor Crest. His father produced a small gold cup, and added the gun barrels to the side. 

The Child was not strong enough to lift the bucket with his arms, and so he lifted it the only way he knew how. He and his father watched as it danced along the beach. The Child turned a hand, and the bucket scooped up wet sand. He turned his hand once more, and it dumped the sand the way his father had. 

Din grabbed his hand gently. “I do not understand your power. You will find that people are afraid of things they do not understand. You must control this thing carefully.”

The Child waited, watching his father. 

“I have you seen heal. But I saw you almost kill Cara Dune, and she had done nothing wrong.” Din paused, searching for his words. 

“I know I sometimes kill people, but it is never without reason, and never because it is my first option. If you have the power to take life, you must never do so indiscriminately.”

The Child nodded. 

His father rested his good arm on his armored knee. “Now, let’s build us a sand ship.” 

That evening, they watched the sun set. The distant sky erupted in orange that faded into purple and blue, and it reminded the Child of Aliel’s wings. He had seen the sun set over deserts a million times. Those evenings were beautiful too, but not in the same way. Just before the sun slipped past the horizon, a green flash spread in the distance. 

Even after the sun had set, the sky was bright. It settled into a myriad of purple and blues. The Child sat beside his father and watched as evening birds swept in to catch their dinner. 

His father taught him how to tie a line. They stood together at the surf and waited for a fish. When they had caught it, they cooked it over a pit that Din had made. A cool evening wind swept the sparks of the fire up, and they watched them disappear into the darkening sky. The Child allowed his father to slip his tunic over him. It was rough—none of the bright silks the Hutt had gilded him with, and the Child found he enjoyed the wool better anyway. 

The tide was out, and they settled back on lush towels that Din had found in the hold. He pointed out the constellations that the Child was just beginning to learn. 

That evening, he fell asleep in the crook of his father’s good arm. 

He woke to find Din cooking breakfast. He had an old skillet and was making sweet cakes over the stoked ire. He served them with a syrup from the bya-bya tree from a place called Endor. The Child tasted it, and then poured more on, until his cakes were more syrup than not. His father chuckled. 

On the third day, they took refuge in the ship as a storm raged in from the ocean. They sat on the lowered gangway, watching the rains become a distant blur over the water before turning the blonde sand dark. Din filled his water bladders and showed the Child how to open the ship’s cistern to receive the incoming rain. 

Lightning erupted around them. A particularly close strike had the Child burying his head in his father’s chest. 

When the storm had passed, Din dug in the sand until he produced a delicate, fused piece of sand. “It is from where lightning hits the sand and fuses it,” he explained as he dropped it into the Child’s wondering hands. “It is called Fulgurite.”

The Child examined the delicate rock. It was a tube with crystal tendrils, and it was a physical memory. He placed it carefully in the jeweled box his father found for him in the hold. 

“I have never been this rich,” his father had said as he sorted through the treasures. “You will find that men will kill each other in the name of credits and precious jewels.”

As the Child held the box, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He had found his father stingy and wanting in the face of the Hutt. But the box he held, while beautiful, was cold. 

Neither the Hutt, nor any of his treasures, could hold the love his father had for him. 

“We will sell many of these things, but that is yours.” 

They spent several weeks on the abandoned beach. Belatedly, the Child realized his father was using it as a chance to recuperate. While the Child played in the sand, his father used the time to tune up the ship and patch his gambeson. The Child watched as his father’s footing became surer. He watched as his father exercised every morning, stretching out torn muscles. 

One day, the Child reached out a hand questioningly. He could feel the hurt his father carried. His father stayed his hand. 

“I will survive. When we reach civilization, I will trade some of our treasures for bacta. Save your energy.” 

The Child couldn’t understand why his father wouldn’t allow him to heal him. He could see from his gait that his hip continued to bother him, and he used his right arm for nearly everything in a way he hadn’t done before.

When the repairs to the ship had been made, his father started making preparations for them to leave. 

They stood on the gangway as another storm approached. 

“We will beat the coming storm. While in the pits, I learned that of one called Yoda. They said he died five years ago, but it means there are others like you. We will find them.”

The Child reluctantly followed his father into the ship. 

If they never found his people, he thought that would be okay. 

After all, he was already home. 

0o0o0o

The bya-bya tree is of my own creation. I feel it works.

A gambeson is the piece of gear worn under a suit of armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm traveling this week, so there might not be another update until next week. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos. I hope you appreciate this interlude.


	5. The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Child makes a new friend 
> 
> The Mandalorian learns they are not safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for all the love everyone has been giving, and for all the wonderful feedback. I appreciate it so much.

The Child had never been to the Inner Rim. He hadn’t even known the galaxy was classified into “inner” and “outer” rims until his father explained it to him as he toggled new coordinates into the computer. 

His father still favored his one side and was careful as he navigated around the ship. Sometimes he would move wrong, and the Child watched him pause. He couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the pain that radiated from him. His father never complained and if the Child wasn’t quite so observant, he wouldn’t have noticed that Din wasn’t quite as nimble as he descended the ladder to the lower level. He had made a pack for his son while they were on the beach, one that he could swivel from his chest to his back quickly, and without interfering with his personal arsenal. The Child was tucked into it now, and he could feel the slight limp as they traversed the ship to the berthing area. 

His father's room was sparse, but Kuiil had made a small crib for the Child. He had not known how large the Child would become so he had made it so it could telescope out to grow with the Child. When the Child buried his face into the blankets, he could still smell Kuiil, and it made him miss the ugnaught very much. 

That night as his father tucked him in to sleep and with the promise of a bedtime story about the planet Mandalore, the Child reached his hand out again as he had done every night before. And, as every night before, Din stayed his hand. 

“It is a father’s responsibility to care for his son,” he explained as he tucked the blanket around him. “The wounds I bear are proud ones. Let me carry them. I will heal.” 

His father melted into the chair beside him, placing a warm hand on his brow. He could not see the smile, but he _felt_ it, and _felt_ the love falling off his father in waves, and the Child glowed. 

Din rubbed his ear affectionately. I have told you many stories about Mandalore and my people. Tonight, I will tell you a story of when I was a little boy, not much older than you.”

The Child cooed in excitement. He enjoyed the stories about the great Mandalore and the people sworn to its creed, but his father had never talked about his own history. 

“I grew up on a farm. Do you remember the planet where we met Cara Dune?” The Child nodded. His father continued, “When I was very small, not much older than you, we lived on a farm that bordered a river. My earliest memory is helping my father collect grain to sell. In the summer, he taught me how to fish. Do you remember fishing on the ocean?" He paused, waiting for the Child's nod of affirmation. "It was like that. As the sun set, mother would grill the fish over an open pit. Evening birds would sing as the fire bugs erupted from the grasses, illuminating the fields. I would collect them in a jar and bring them inside and used them to light up my room. My planet was beautiful.

“My mother had another son, my brother. He was a cheerful baby and I was excited to be a big brother. But the year he turned two, a virus swept through the village, and they could not get medicine in time. In the Inner Rim, children never die of those sorts of things, but resources are scarce on the Outer Rim, and especially in farming villages.

“Not long after, we moved to town. My father sold the farm and became a merchant. He was a better farmer than he was a seller, but he tried. 

“It’s important that you always try,” his father said, looking down at him. “If nothing else, you must always try.”

The Child looked up at his father seriously, giving a small nod of understanding. His father continued, telling stories of the farm and of the small town they had lived in, before it had been ravaged by the Empire. 

His father’s words became a rhythm that became waves, and the Child was lulled to sleep by the swells of Din’s voice. 

In his dreams, he ran naked on the shores of an unnamed beach, his father standing at the lowered gangway of their ship. Fish cooked over an open fire. 

A small, naked boy ran with him. “I am Din’s brother,” the naked boy told him. 

“The Chile smiled, excited to meet the boy. 

“He has become a good man,” his brother said. “My parents never named me. You can call me Brother.”

Together, they built the _Razor Crest_ from a golden bucket and golden sand. Later, Brother taught him how to play tag. 

Brother was faster than the Child, but he was cleverer. 

When he awoke the next morning, the Child did not remember his dream. 

0o0o0o0o0o0o

They arrived on the crowded planet of Eufornis Major. The Child was overwhelmed by the crush of the thoughts around him, and so he wailed in despair from the loss that the souls leaked as they walked streets that were both overcrowded and very, very lonely. 

His father picked him up and settled him into a pack he’d made. The Child burrowed in close. Din was an island of placidity in an ocean of turmoil. 

They negotiated for bacta spray and other medicines. They stocked up the hold with food, and his father bought more ammunition and several different types of grenades. He explained them—cryoban, fragmentation, Glop—and the purpose of each one as he loaded them into the armory. 

“We won’t need a job for a while,” his father explained as they organized the Hutt’s treasures. “But we might be able to get some leads on your people. Eufornis Major has a Covert. We will go there tomorrow.”

They went to a local cantina for dinner. His father never ate in the presence of others, but he ordered a thick stew for the Child. The Child picked up the bowl with both hands and started slurping. 

“Use your spoon,” Din motioned to the utensil. The Child made a face, but reluctantly followed his instruction. Soon, there was more food on his cowl than in his mouth. 

“Are you doing that to be difficult?”

The Child stared back with innocent eyes. His father leaned in. 

“I saw you lift a Mudhorn with your hands. Are you trying to tell me you don’t have the dexterity to use a spoon? That’s all the dinner you’re getting. If more of it ends up on your shirt than your mouth, I don’t want you crying in hunger tonight.”

The Child scowled. 

He did not spill any more stew. 

When they left, dusk had become night. The sky was drowned out in the lights of the city, and the Child felt lost without the familiar stars overhead. His father picked him up and placed him in the pack on his back, so the Child was able to feel him lower his hand to his blaster when he turned to a darkened alley. The Child saw a shadow slip out from the depths. 

“Din Djarin.” The shadow became a grizzled human with a missing ear and a black bushy beard. He had a scar that crossed over one eye, which was cloudy. The gaze of his one good eye was a piercing blue, and the Child tried to stare back unflinchingly.

“You have the advantage,” his father said, his arm tensing over his blaster. 

“ _Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod_.”

The Child saw his father’s hand lock around the blaster. “You know Mando’a.”

“I come as a friend. The Covert has sent me. My name is Dom Jorrah. Please, follow me.” The man slipped back into the shadows. 

His father paused. “Stay low,” he finally ordered before following the man. 

The Child ducked into his pouch but remained peering over Din’s shoulder. 

They slipped into the alley and followed the dark shadow of the human. The brightly lit passages of the city soon became ridden with trash and beggars that peered out from tattered hoods, their faces haggard and scarred from past conflicts. The Child tried to remember the way out, but their guide twisted them through so many alleys and side streets that without the stars, the Child knew he would not be able to find his way back to the ship. 

The dark alleys eventually lead to a tunnel that wasn’t lit at all until his father toggled his flashlight on his helmet. 

When the tunnel finally opened up, flickering lanterns had the Child blinking his eyes rapidly to adjust to the light. They were in a small courtyard littered with mounds of stone, a Mandalorian helmet mounted over each one. Dom Jorrah paused, and on the far side of the courtyard they could see a cadre of Mandalorians. They lead a slow march across the grounds. The Child could make out a body, wrapped in linen, carried by six other Mandalorians. A slow drum beat their footsteps out. 

When the body had been placed in the ground, the Child watched as the Mandalorians threw flowers over the grave before shoveling dirt over the body. When the work was done, they placed a helmet over the grave. A figure stepped forward. 

“Mandalorians, we have lost a brother today. He was young, and his armor was found wanting. That is twelve alone this cycle. As your Commander, I promise you justice.

His name was Jos Kai. Let us not forget him. _Mando'ad draar digu_.”

“ _Mando'ad draar digu,_ ” the other voices echoed. 

When the burial was done and the others had dispersed, the Commander crossed the empty graveyard to where the trio stood. The Commander's armor was not the bright silver of Beskar, mismatched and battered from previous battles. 

“Din Djarin and your son. Your reputation proceeds you.” The Commander walked with a slight limp, his visor dented.

“Who killed this Mandalorian?” His father asked. 

The Commander motioned to the other grave sites. “I expect the same one who killed the others of our Covert. We have been targeted.”

“Why?”

“Because of you.” 

His father stilled as he looked over the graveyard, the silent helmets staring back. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. “Why?” He repeated. 

The Commander looked over the grave site. “This was once the gathering for our Covert. Since the Purge, we found anonymity in the populous of the Inner Rim. We used this field of green for ascension and commendation. Since the last Rotation, it has become our graveyard. Who are you, and who is this Child?”

His father’s helmet moved, and the Child could feel the full gaze of his father upon him. He ducked behind his shoulder. 

“He is my son. I am bound to protect him until he becomes of age or finds his people. He has my protection.”

The Commander nodded. “I extend my protection to you both. But you are not safe here. Walk with me. Thank you, Dom Jorrah.” 

The human nodded, fading back into the shadows. Din watched him go. “He is not one of us, can you trust him?”

“He was raised in The Way. He chose not to bear the armor so that he might take care of his family and so they might see his face. He is a good man. He would be you, had you found an other. You have not removed your helmet before this Child?”

“I have not.”

The Commander nodded. “Come with me.”

They followed the Commander through the graveyard and into winding alleys until they reached a weathered door. Inside was sparse, torches lighting the bare walls, casting them in a warm haze. The Child could see hints that other children had been here before. The walls were scribbled with messy depictions of helmeted peoples. The Commander followed the Child’s gaze. 

“I too have children of my own. I have sent my family away. This world is not safe.” He settled heavily into a wooden chair that creaked under the weight. “Please, take a seat.”

Din gathered the Child into his arms and settled into the offered chair. “He is my responsibility.”

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din._ Family is more than blood.” The Commander said, “Moff Gideon is not dead.”

His father’s arms tightened around him. “I shot down his tie fighter.”

The Commander looked out a dark window. “You have heard of the Darksaber?”

“I have heard of it. It is a legend.”

“It is not. Moff Gideon has it. He will not rest until you are found. He wants your son. As long as you raise this Child nowhere in the galaxy is safe.” The Commander turned his gaze back to Din. 

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ ,” his father said. “This child is my son. As I live, Moff Gideon will not have him.”

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ ,” the Commander repeated. “Until the last Mandalorian dies in protection of this child, Moff Gideon will not have your son. Will you die for him?”

The Child felt the heavy gaze of his father. “He is my son. It is the Way.” 

“It Is the Way,” the Commander agreed. “The Empire has taken much from us. As long as we live, they will not take your son. Already, the remnants of the Empire know of him. You may rest here tonight in security. But I do not know how long our Covert is safe for you. We have lost twelve already.”

“I will leave tonight. I am sorry for the grief I have caused.”

The Commander stood. “It is an honor, not a burden. Go safely, my brother. Dom Jorrah will lead you home. He travels better than we can. I will take you to him."

They followed the battered Mandalorian back to the grave yard. The human stood over a mound, his good eye distant. He looked up as the trio approached and nodded when the Commander gave him instruction. 

As they traversed through dark alleys once more, Din asked, “Whose grave was that?”

“That was my mother,” the human whispered over his shoulder. 

“What was her name?”

“Her name was Jarra,” he paused. “She was a Lorrdian. She was a Mandalorian."

“I will honor her.” 

“Thank you, Din Djarin. She would be honored to know she was fighting the Empire, even now. She spent her entire life thwarting them. She was a better person than I. I have a family on the East side, and could not bear to keep my face covered, and so I could never take the Creed.” 

“ _Aliit ori'shya tal'din_ . Family is more than blood,” Din said. Dom looked back at them before slowly repeating the words. "She would be disappointed in me."

"I disagree," Din said. 

When they arrived at the port, a platoon of Storm Troopers stood around the _Razor Crest._

“ _Haar'chak_ ,” Dom muttered. “Someone has told them of your arrival. There is a traitor.”

The Child heard his father sigh. If he had not been strapped to his chest, it would have been too quiet to hear. 

“What promises did the Remnants offer you?” 

The man turned back to look at them impassively. He opened his mouth, but Din interrupted. "On the honor of your mother, do not lie to me." Dom Jorrah looked away, his shoulders sagging. “I have children of my own. They said they would kill them.” 

His fathered stared back. He was silent a long time. “Go," he finally sighed. "Never return. I will handle this.”

“Will you kill me for betraying the Covert?” The man looked up, peering out through his one good eye. 

“No. But you will tell them what you have done. Go.” 

Dom Jorrah disappeared into the night. Din unshouldered the Child, placing him in a corner. “Wait here.” 

His father stepped out into the clearing. The Child readied his hand. He would not allow his father to be hurt again. He had better control than before, and better understanding of the sorts of weapons the enemy bore. 

His concern was unwarranted, and his hand fell to his side as he watched his father move silently through the dock. He had felled a fire team before the storm troopers got the first shot out. The remaining eight were dispatche When Din returned, his Beskar was still smoking, but the man himself was uninjured. He picked his son up and carried him up the gangway.

When they were back in the ship and once again safely ensconced in the safety of the stars, his father unstrapped him and brought him to the showers. 

“The Inner Rim is no place for us,” he told him as he pulled off the Child’s tunic and washed the city grime off him. “I should have followed through with Moff Gideon. He threatens the survival of my people.” 

His father’s ministrations were rougher than usual, and the Child voiced his complaint. His father relented, his scrubbing becoming gentler. When the Child was cleaned, he swaddled him once more and tucked him into bed. 

The Child cooed in the tone that he used when asking for a bedtime story. 

His father sighed, settling next to him. “I am afraid the stories on my mind tonight are not suitable for children.”

The Child considered. His father, before he was his father, had once given him over to men who had meant him a great deal of harm. Before his father, he had lived a life full of people that harbored ill will towards him. 

He cooed again, angrier this time. It was not fair that they lived in a galaxy full of people that intended to hurt him, and he had no idea why. 

His father stared at him through his visor for a long time. Finally, he sighed. 

“I will tell you about the Empire. The Client said the Empire left order where there was chaos. I will tell you the truth. When you are older, I will tell you more.”

And so, his father told the story of the day the Empire’s droids had come for his family. 

That night, the Child dreamed of Brother. The other boy sat in a field of grain, his face long. The fish on the pit had been overcooked and was little more than ashes. 

“The Empire knew the illness that came for us,” Brother lamented, “but they did not think we were important enough to save, so they did not send medicine. That is what Mama told Papi, when Din was not listening.” 

Brother looked at the Child with sad eyes. 

“Do not let the Empire take my older brother.”

The Darkness that sat in the peripheral of the Child encroached. It whispered promises of protection. 

This time, the Child listened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aliit ori'shya tal'din-- Family is more than blood
> 
> Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod  
> — Honor my offer of truce, for I would not willingly shed my brother's blood.
> 
> Mando'ad draar digu—a Mandalorian never forgets 
> 
> Haar'chak--dammit


	6. The Wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The son learns courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the week, I am sunk with the obligations of work, which is a depressing endeavor. I will write this story until it finds its end. Your kudos and comment keep it alive and well. Thank you so much. I cannot articulate how much your love means. Your interest keeps my own interest live and well.

They traveled the stars. 

They refueled when they were low, but besides that, they kept to space and the safety of the expanse. 

His father was reticent. In the evenings, he told him stories of Mandalore and of the galaxy, but he avoided stories of his own boyhood and even of the Empire. He told the legends of the Angels and of planets that were said to exist but had never been found. 

When they were safely back in the Outer Rim, he could feel his father relax. Out here, the planets were more sparsely populated. Sands and not oceans defined the land. The skies were the unforgiving blue of multiple suns. Sometimes they landed in the waste of abandoned cities, and sometimes his father told him the stories behind the empty lands, and sometimes he didn’t.

But the Child knew, anyway.

The Darkness filled in the gaps. 

When the Child listened, the Darkness told of injustices, and promised balance, if the Child would allow it. The Child learned that the galaxy had always been in conflict, and the ghost towns that dotted lonely planets were forgotten monuments to all those that had died. 

The Child remembered Cara Dune, but he also remembered the ravaged face of Dom Jorrah and the undercurrents of Fear that ruled him. The Darkness promised that if he Listened, no father would ever have to worry about his child again. Together, they could bring an end to all conflict. 

They landed on a desert planet robust with barren mountains and red sands. “Moraband,” his father called it. “An abandoned wasteland,” he added.

The lonely wind whispered to the Child. As his father tinkered with the ship, lost in memory. Left to his own devices, the Child wandered the crimson sands. 

His father had promised there were no living souls on the planet, and he wasn’t wrong. But the Child was not alone. 

He found himself in a box canyon with intricate carvings embedded in the stark red walls. Here, the voice was louder than ever. 

“Welcome, my child,” the voice, usually sibilant, was now well defined. A dark specter separated from the growing shadows of the setting suns. As it came closer, it grew in height until a fearsome creature with glowing eyes stared down at the Child. “You have come a far way and I am gladdened to finally meet you.”

The Child stared up at him. Fear winded its way into his soul, and he found his legs wouldn’t work. He plopped onto the sand. He regretted leaving his father very much. 

“I have seen your kind before. I have waited a long time for one such as you. You are strong in the Force.”

The Child wailed uncertainly. The shadow leaned in curiously. 

“You are but a childling.”

The Child wailed louder. His cry echoed off the empty walls. 

The shadow reached out for him. The grasp that reached around him was warm and familiar. 

“There you are,” his father said, slipping him into his pouch. “Stay close. These lands are abandoned, but that does not mean they are safe.”

As Din navigated his way back to the ship, the Child looked back to see the large shadow watch them go. The only remarkable feature was its glowing eyes. The Child buried his head in his father’s shoulder and promised that he would never go exploring again. 

Over the next few days, he watched his father make camp and toggle through the ship’s catalogs of planets and their history. The dark shadow lurked at the edges of his consciousness, and he wished he had the words to tell his father that they had to leave. 

In his dreams, Brother did not speak. He sat on the shores of the ocean, which were always gray with coming storms. When he looked at the Child, his eyes were beseeching. 

On the fifth day of being on Moraband, Brother finally spoke. 

“My brother is not safe here. Get away.”

The Child spent the next day on the ship and refused to leave. He wailed when his father prepared dinner at the foot of the gangway. He only quieted when Din brought dinner up to him. They sat together and watched the setting sun. It was red long past setting, casting the distant sky in an ominous crimson with none of the comforting blue of a sunset over the ocean—or any other planet they had visited. 

In the dark, the child could feel the red eyes of the dark shadow peering out at him. 

“There are no night sounds,” his father observed uneasily as they sat in the night. “We will leave at first light after we have rested.”

That evening, Din told no stories as he tucked his son in. He closed the ship up and promised an early departure. When the Child finally fell into a fitful sleep, he found Brother looking at him mournfully. They floated on a plank in the ocean. Storm clouds gathered around them. 

When he woke, he was alone. 

He wailed. 

When his throat was dry, he climbed uneasily from his crib. He _reached_ and found the ship empty. The gangway laid open. He slowly edged down it. Above, the red sun was unforgiving in its heat. The Child waited at the edge of the ship until the sun was high in the sky. The spit was empty—his father had not prepared breakfast for them and hunger turned in his stomach. He could see footsteps in the sand leading away from the ship, even as the constant wind blew red sand over the last remnants of his father.

The child collapsed and cried. 

“When you accept the Force, you are never alone,” a shadow separated from ship. It knelt beside him. “Perhaps we can be friends. After all, your father has left you, and you are alone.”

The Child stared at the dark creature and sniffled. He did not think his father had left him. He escaped back into the hold. The shadow gathered at the foot of the gangway and stared up at him with glowing eyes. 

“Come with me, my child, and perhaps we can find your father together. He needs your help.”

The Child climbed up onto boxes his father had placed next to the control panel. He had watched him operate it enough times to know how to close the doors. As the ship closed up against the planet, the red eyes were the last thing the Child saw before the door sealed shut. 

Hoping he was safe from the Darkness, he fell back on his bottom and sobbed. He was afraid. He was afraid of being alone, and he was afraid for his father. He knew that he wouldn’t have left if not for a Very Important Reason, and the Child wondered if his father could hear the voice, too. 

When he had exhausted himself from his tears, he sat quietly and thought about what to do next. 

His father had taught him it was better to travel at night in the desert, and the Child knew that if he was to find his father, time mattered. But the night was the providence of the evil shadow, and the Child was reluctant to leave the safety of the ship. 

But his father was out there, and the Child knew that he needed him. 

Resolute, he prepared a pack. He filled a bladder of water—his father stressed the importance of hydration in the desert—and grabbed sweet cakes for food that they had bought at his insistent cries. He found some of the Bacta spray his father had negotiated, and added that, too. Slowly, he climbed the boxes again and keyed the ship open. The shadow was not there. He slowly edged down the ramp, hesitant to step off the ship. In his father’s stories, the Mandalorians were always very brave.

His father was brave.

He needed to be brave. 

He stepped out onto the sand. 

Slowly, he started off in the direction of the footsteps he had seen earlier before the wind had hidden them. He wandered through the night. When the sun began to rise, he continued to walk. When it became too hot to continue and the sand burned his feet, he hid in the shadows of the barren mountains. 

The suns began to set, and the shadows grew long. The Child had nothing to track his father by, but there was a feeling that urged him onward. Despite the heat, there was a pervasive sense of coldness and emptiness that ate into the features of the land. The bright crimson eyes became the darkness that the Child had seen before, and it grew as the stars became pinpoints above them. Its voice was louder in the dark and promised a million wonderful and dark things. 

The voice promised that if he let it in, together they could find his father. That his father was hurt and needed his help. That he would fail without the voice. 

He remembered his father, who had come back into a nest of storm troopers and pulled a tiny child from the arms of a man who had intended to do great harm. 

He remembered Kuiil, who had died with the Child in his arms. 

He remembered the droid, who had taken up Kuiil’s mission, and had given his existence, too, for the Child. 

He did not think they would have listened to the voice, and so the Child did not, either. 

He followed the _feeling_ that urged him forward. 

On the second night, he found himself in the remnants of a forest. The trees had become stone, petrified from time and the elements. Their ragged stumps formed pinnacles that were still much taller than the Child. They cast deep shadows from the full moons above. He stood on the forest’s edge, frightened. 

The _feeling_ urged him forward, and he carefully navigated his way through the valleys of the stone trees. When he had almost given up hope, he saw a figure resting against the base of one of the trees. Relief flooded through him has he soon recognized the familiar form of his father’s helmet. He did not look up as the Child approached. When the Child grew close, he finally saw the visor lift, but his father did not open his arms for him. It was not until the Child climbed into his lap that his father placed a warm hand over head. He caressed his ears. 

“My son,” his voice cracked from disuse and from want of water. “You are real.” 

The Child cooed. 

Slowly, as if freeing himself from cobwebs, Din stood. He kept his son clasped in one arm. 

“This is a realm of nightmares. I had thought the stories of this place were those told by old women to keep children behaving. They are not. I did not think a planet could be an evil place.” 

They walked through the night and by mid morning, they had reached the _Razor Crest_. His father was much faster than he at traversing the dunes and lonely canyons. 

With his father close, the dark shadow with red eyes lurked in the distance, but never closed in. 

When they were safe again in the solitude of the stars, his father turned to him. 

“I thought you had left. I went in search of you. In those woods, I saw—” his father trailed off, shaken. “I would never leave you,” he finished. “As my son, I hope you know that. I would never leave you," he repeated.

The child climbed out of his chair and into his father’s lap. His father held him close. 

They fell asleep that way, his father at the helm as they sped away from the cursed planet, his son tucked in against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moraband was the final resting place for Darth Bane, the Sith who articulated the Rule of Two. 
> 
> These stories are unedited. I tinker with them as the opportunity allows. If you're interested in being a second set of eyes, or just to shoot the breeze, let me know. You can find me on discord at @ipo.


	7. The Flooded Planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Child gets sick. His father worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for your love in comments and kudos. It's been a busy week at work, but your interest keeps me motivated to keep churning out chapters for as long this series has a story to tell. 
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to RedFieldFamilyFan24 who gave this chapter a look over, and made some pertinent edits.

After Moraband, his father anchored the ship in the dust of a nebula and powdered down most of the ship’s functions. He left a scanner open to monitor any passing traffic but turned off the running lights. They were on the edge of something that Din called Wild Space. It was a lonely stretch of stars and dust. There were no voices that whispered to the Child. 

In space, there was no setting sun to march out the passage of time, and so the Child thought there was no time at all. If they never landed on another planet, they would live forever. 

The Child grew used to their rhythm. Before he awoke, his father had an exercise routine that took about an hour. Then, he prepared breakfast and ate alone before collecting the Child from his crib. 

The Child had grown to accept that the impassive helmet was his father, and it was his actions and not the expressions of his face that conveyed his love. 

His father taught him games he had learned in his childhood. There was skippity jacks, and Hangman’s Journey. He taught him the hiding the places that even the Child did not know. He taught him passwords to lock the ship down. He gave him charcoal and let the Child fill papers with his drawings. 

“Is this us?” he asked, pointing to a blocky figure with a small child next to him. “Your ears aren’t that big.” He reconsidered. “Well, maybe they are,” he chuffed. The Child giggled. 

The next time the Child was in the cockpit, his drawing was hanging next to the navigator. 

When they ran out of fresh produce, they relied on frozen goods, and when those had run out, they resorted to pickle ones. The Child pinched his face at the sour taste. Slowly, he grew used to them. He learned that he could get used to almost anything. 

“We’ll have to refuel eventually,” his father said with an unhappy sigh as he stood in front of the pantry. 

The Child weighed out pickled goods and the prospect of restarting time. He whined at the prospect.

“I agree,” his father said. As much as the Child had grown used to the impassive features of his father, his father had grown used to the various chirps of his son. 

His father spent the next day toggling through the navigator. That night as he tucked the Child into bed. “We will go to Akiva. After the Empire fell, they held a summit there, but they have abandoned the planet for better climes. We can refuel there and should be safe.”

The Child babbled mournfully.

“You are right. Nowhere is safe. I plan to explore the Wilds; I have heard there are several planets inhabited by those hoping to escape the warring forces. We may find solace there.” 

The Child whined. The only place they had ever been safe was Space. 

His father regarded him before sighing and collecting his son in his arms. “We can’t live here forever. We won’t be there long.” 

The Child knew deserts and he had learned beaches, but they had only seen a forest once before, where they had met Cara. He was awed by the luscious trees that covered the landscape. It was raining when they landed, and the Child was amazed by the huge, luscious drops that fell from the sky. He stood in the open for a full minute when they landed, catching the rain in his open mouth. 

“Here, the floods come often. That is why the landing dock is on stilts. The rainy season can last months.” His father looked down at him. “Keep your hood up before you get soaked and catch your death of pneumonia.” 

The Child made a face but brought the cowl up over his head all the same. 

The entire town was built on stilts with crosswalks navigating the streets. The child watch in awe as the denizens navigated the thoroughfares with boats as the rivers rose. 

They made their way to the covered market. His father helped him out of his sodden jacket, and they negotiated for more produce and meat—both frozen and fresh—and had it delivered to the port. 

“Three bushels of aka and two more of basalas—that’s two thousand credits.”

His father picked up a fruit. “They’re almost rotten. They’re not worth more than a thousand and you’re still cheating me.” 

“My wife is pregnant with twins. That makes five mouths to feed, you’ll eat me out of house and home, same as them,” the snouted creature that his father later identified as a Kubaz whined. “1500 credits.”

“Children are expensive. I have one of my own. I can’t keep him fed. 1200 credits.”

“1250,” the Kubaz countered. “It’s hardly enough to cover all the work of harvest.”

“1225,” Din agreed, sliding the money across. “Have it delivered to docking bay 12.”

“An extra 25 for delivery?” The Kubaz tried. 

“On arrival.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mandalorian.” The Kubaz whistled, and a smaller Kubaz unfolded from around the tent. The pair began loading a wagon.

The Child rubbed at his runny nose as he watched his father negotiate with all the merchants this way. Above them, the heavy rain pattered against the glass roof. The Child wondered if they town had sunk and they were beneath the ocean. He looked for fish. 

“Come on,” his father urged. The light was fading in the sky, and dark storm clouds flickered with electricity. The streetlamps of the town were soon lit. The gondolas in the risen channels guided the way of passengers headed out for the evening, their bright bows reflecting in the black waters. 

His father spent the evening loading the ship with their new provisions. The Child tried to help, but he was quickly shooed up into the hold. 

“It’s too wet out here. Wait inside.”

The Child watched as his father loaded the hold. He pulled at his ear, which had begun to ache. His clothes suddenly felt very wet and very hot. He shrugged them off and curled up in a corner. 

Hours later, the sky now black save for blasts of lightning that illuminated the whole port in eerie white, his father came to collect him. The Child was listless as his Din gathered him into his arms. 

“Kid?” His father shook him gently. “Where’s your clothes?” He leaned down. “They’re soaking,” his father stood up with dripping tunic in hand, dismay in his voice. 

The Child whined. He buried his head into his father’s chest, relieved by the cool Beskar against his skin. 

He spent a restless night in his father’s cool arms. His father paced the hold with his son held close. The Child dreamed many things. Later, he would not remember most of them. But he remembered the walls of the ship melting around him, and he wailed in terror. 

When the sky was lighter though still marred with bruised clouds that smeared rain, his father headed back off the ship. He had tried to put the Child back in his crib, but the Child’s cries kept him in the cool arms of his father. 

His father found his way to an apothecary. They entered a shop that was dimly lit and smelled slightly sweet. The Child tossed in his arms. An aged creature with almond-shaped black eyes and saggy facial jowls stared eyed the Mandalorian as he entered. Her black eyes softened as she saw the package in his arms. 

“A child,” she cooed, holding her arms out. She had white hair knotted in a complicated pattern that fell to the small of her back. The Child wailed as his father handed him over.

“My son. He is sick.”

“I have never seen his sort before.” She placed the Child carefully onto the table. “I do not know what his base temperature should be, but he seems to be burning up with fever.” 

“They say you are a healer.”

“They do say that,” the Sullustan agreed, turning to rifle through various powders on the wall behind her. She pulled one out, and an instrument with it. She peered into the ears of the Child. The discomfort made the Child wail louder, and she used the opportunity to look down his throat. 

“An ear infection,” she finally declared. You brought him in just in time—any longer, and the membrane would’ve burst. Makes space travel hard.” She went about mixing powder. “Since the Empire left, medicine is hard to come by. We don’t have any of that fancy stuff they carry on the Inner Rim. But this will do.” 

The Mandalorian watched her work. “Will he be okay?”

“Of course, he will be. My name is “Dala, and you’re the Mandalorian. We don’t see much of your kind through here. Never heard of one with a son, anyway. Wasn’t sure you had children but then, you have to come from somewhere, don’t you?” She laughed quietly as she poured the powder into a jar. “Honey from the dew-sap to sweeten the taste. Twice a day for ten days and finish the whole course even if he seems better.” Dala instructed as she shook the mixture. “They say you landed yesterday. I’ll give you extra for your journey—use it sparingly. Children this age get sick at the slightest thing.”

“He’s never been sick before,” Din hedged. 

Dala’s eyes widened. “Is that so! Then you are very lucky. When mine own were this age, the slightest wind changed meant a new illness. I worried myself sick with my oldest, but with my third” she shrugged with a smile. “They are resilient. Watch as I give the first dose. There you go, open up wide.” She slipped a spoon into the Child’s mouth. He smacked his lips around the sour-sweet taste, making face when he was done. Dala gave a hearty laugh. 

“All our technology, and we can’t figure out how to medicine taste good!” She offered the Child back to his father. “Give it a few hours, he’ll start feeling better soon. In a day or three, he should be right as rain.” She nodded to the sodden skies and winked. 

Din gathered the Child back into his arms. “How much do I owe you?” 

“This is your first?” Dala leaned on the counter. 

“He is.”

“It’s on the house. Ancestors know you’re in for a ride, what’s a little kindness on the part of an old Sullustan? Anyway, I don’t recommend travel for a day or two—let him get his equilibrium. Worst thing is for that ear to pop—while I’m thinking of it, here’s a little something for pain.” She offered a dark blue bottle along with the brown bottle of the medicine. “I mixed a little in with the medicine, but this will help in between, with pain and fever. That’s the Dala guarantee.”

“Let me pay you something,” Din protested. He put a gold ingot on the counter. 

“Oh Ancestors, no, I protest! You do me a disservice when I offer you kindness. You put that thing right back where you pulled it from. I’ll have half the town this evening in for all manners of gifts they’ve picked up from the brothels, let me do some honest work. Now take that Child home and sing him a lullaby and soon he’ll be that little lightning bolt you’re used to. I’d say, enjoy the rest while you have it, but he’s your first and you’ll worry your own self sick. Now shoo, shoo.” Dala came around the counter, sweeping her hands in a shooing motion. She gave a bright laugh as the Mandalorian and his son edged carefully out of the clinic. 

Din kept the Child’s face covered from the downpour, and soon they were safely ensconced in the _Razor Crest_. The Child spent the next few hours in a fitful sleep. His father kept him clasped to his chest, sitting in chair he’d fashioned from their negotiated goods and watching the rains from the top of the lowered ramp. He hummed in a raspy voice, sometimes breaking into half remembered lullabies from his own childhood the dissolved into bawdy bar songs when he forgot the lyrics of his mother. 

By the evening, the Child’s fever broke. For the first time in two days, he fell into a dreamless sleep. 

When he awoke, he was in the tram his father had fashioned for him in the cockpit. He looked out at the blackness of space, punctuated only by distant stars and even more distant planets. He chirped in happiness. 

His father turned to look at him, and the Child saw his shoulders sag in relief. 

“You made it.” He gathered his son into his lap. 

And the Child fell asleep once more in the cool arms of his father’s armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for stopping by!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everybody for all your comments and kudos. I'm really happy everyone is enjoying my stories. It inspires me to write more.


End file.
